


Fight for the Fairytale

by fallonmorellcarrington



Series: Fight for the Fairytale [1]
Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25748137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallonmorellcarrington/pseuds/fallonmorellcarrington
Summary: Fallon Carrington is just another overprivileged heiress, running from one scandal to the next, quickly covering up her mistakes in her wake. After being usurped by her step-mother to be in her life-long quest for COO, and two failed relationships, she manages to meet and fall for the one person she's been taught to hate her entire life. Only through love does she grow and change, and realize that money can't buy the one thing she wants - a life outside of the one she's always known.Falliam AU woven with modern fairytale-tale like themes; contains mostly subtle references to popular works of literature and/or film and television. Some things are canon, but do not happen at the same time as on the show IE: some things have already happened at the start of this fic, and some have yet to happen (out of what I'm choosing to use).
Relationships: falliam - Relationship
Series: Fight for the Fairytale [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881967
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	Fight for the Fairytale

Have you ever thought of your perfect fairytale life? Close your eyes, picture it. Don’t hold back. We all dream of our perfect fairytale life, but that’s all it is, right? A fairytale. A fairytale filled with princes and princesses, balls and ballgowns, haute couture and Christian Louboutins. Fairy godmothers in the form of your great grandmother writing out seven digit checks at Christmastime, parties with endless Moët, flashbulbs going off as they light up the pair of seven caret diamond earrings - each - dangling from each ear, throwing back your head and smiling whenever you hear your name, hoping the camera captures your good side. Then suddenly, as if in a movie, the crowd parts and he’s standing there - your prince in all his glory, cleaned up neatly in a tux, ready to sweep you off your feet and then…

Fallon rolled over in bed, groaning as her alarm went off. Fuck, she thought. Just as she was getting to the best part of the dream too. She always woke up before she could see the face of the man standing there, and she always had since she started having the dream as a child. Every girl has their own image of a prince, and Fallon Carrington was no exception to this. Ever since she was a little girl and had told her nanny that she was to be called Princess Fallon, and it was Carrington _Castle_ , not **Manor** , she knew she wasn’t like the other girls at her school. With a full staff at the command of Anders, always scurrying out of view of the Carrington family as they were about to round the corner, while Fallon knew she wasn’t exactly a princess - though she did know a few actual princesses, and she knew she personally would hate it - she knew she was still different even from the wealthiest of girls at Penley. She had been the girl who everyone wanted to be, the girl who everyone was desperate to copy and emulate, and the girl that every guy wanted to be under, something she had encouraged by having her uniform skirt hemmed just short enough to tease, but still long enough that it well within the dress code - barely. Of course, her true rebellion had begun at the age of 14 when she entered the upper school at Penley and had gained automatic queen bee status. Why wouldn’t she? She had the biggest house, the most absent parents, and therefore threw the wildest parties that would last the entire weekend, and everyone who had been there always had the best stories to tell those who hadn’t been on the guest list. Scotch was her liquor of choice as early as 13 though, to cope with Alexis running off and leaving her with Blake and Steven. She hadn’t been the best mother to begin with, but she was still the only mother Fallon had, and leaving her at the age 12 in a mansion with no one to show or teach her love and affection had severely damaged her. Every single therapist she had seen - only once each therapist, since she generally fired them after the first session when they told her the sad truth she didn’t want to face - told her that her severe mommy, daddy, and abandonment issues needed extensive psychoanalysis, and she’d promptly kicked them out of her home office. At 25 though, it was something she knew she had to face. Alexis had set her up for a lifetime of failure because that’s all she was - a failure. Blake was cold and distant, Steven had his passion charity projects doing god only knew what; what did she have? She was the complete opposite of her older brother, to the point where she often wondered if he was adopted. It certainly wasn’t her; she looked an equal amount like both of her parents. In their crazy family, anything could happen.

Sighing as she lay on her back, she looked up at the ceiling of her bedroom, at the ornate chandelier hanging over the end of her bed as she crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her silken camisole to her as she narrowed her eyes. Today was a big day at work, and then tonight -tonight would be her victory party, twenty five years in the making. It wasn’t about her failures, both as a daughter and at work. All Blake saw her as was his spoiled, overprivileged brat of a daughter, a pawn he loved to use just as Maria Theresa had done with her own dynasty - though she had successfully matched them with different monarchs all over Europe, Blake was desperately trying - and marvelously failing- at trying to marry Fallon off. In her defense, Fallon was doing a fantastic job to ruin those plans. For one, she was twenty five; who the hell got married at 25? She had just come into her trust fund earlier that year, and was still dreaming up what she wanted to do with it. She had ideas in her head, of course, but COO of Carrington Atlantic was still number one. On the relationship side, on the other hand…well. Fallon didn’t like to think about that unless she was at least three glasses of champagne and two southsides in. At least Culhane had come to her rescue at her faux-wedding to Jeff, especially when it had been revealed that Jeff was her cousin for fucks sake. No, half cousin - she needed to repeat that. Half-cousin, half-cousin, half-cousin. It still didn’t make her feel any less disgusting. Even after that though, anything romantic she had had with Culhane had eventually fizzled out, and she didn’t enjoy being pushed at any Vanderbilts, Rothschilds, or Kennedy’s, just as much as they didn’t enjoy being pushed at any of the Carringtons. They ran in the same circle and had grown up together; the thought of ending up marrying one of her close friends made her physically ill. She just couldn’t do it anymore, and she couldn’t stand how manipulative Blake was - the older she got the more she saw him for who he truly was, and he truly didn’t have an honest bone in his body. You didn’t build your empire and dynasty by playing nice and telling the truth, two traits he had passed on to his heiress and only daughter, though Fallon liked to think and pretend she took the high ground.

Even so, she ruled Atlanta as the pinnacle of society for the younger set; a real life Blair Waldorf- just more of everything. More money, more clothes, more shoes, more power. Better style, better hair, a better sense of herself and, unlike some people liked to think, a better sense of the world around her. Just because she had money didn’t mean she was inept and sheltered to the rest of the world; she felt she was more aware than most women her age, and she absolutely despised the stereotypical ‘rich girl’ stigma that tended to surround her. Ah, to be 25 without a care in the damn world; she truly wondered what that was like. No, she just learned early on how to hide the grief and pain well - the perfect masquerade, if you will, and lucky enough for her, tonight an actual masquerade where she could hide behind artfully applied makeup and an intricately designed mask, pretending just for one evening that she wasn’t her, like she did every year for the Carrington Atlantic masquerade ball. No matter what anyone said about her behind her back or the ways they tried to sabotage her, she didn’t care, nor did she have any reason to care. She was Fallon Carrington, after all. Women wanted to be her, and men wanted to be under her. It really was that simple, and she enjoyed having the power her way. She had been born into undeniable and endless power and privilege, and no one had ever dared question it, or her. Whatever Fallon wanted, Fallon got.

* * *

After her morning shower and doing her hair and makeup, Fallon decided on a navy skirt that hit just above the knee, paired with a navy blazer and a crisp white button down. Her skirt flared out school-girl style, adding some fun to the typical office-like A line skirt she was so bored of seeing around the Carrington Atlantic offices. Couldn’t her fathers employees be business-savvy AND have a sense of style? Why couldn’t she have been the daughter of Anna Wintour? Closing her eyes as she spritzed her signature rose-water perfume on her neck and wrists, she sighed as she slid into a pair of red stilettos, her curls tumbling over her shoulders. Small diamond studs nestled in her ears with a simple bracelet on her wrist, and she was off to work. A chic Prada tote held her iPad, phone, and other essentials for the day as she stepped into her office at CA, ready for another day of boring meetings. The morning flew by and after her third meeting before lunch, Fallon noticed Blake hadn’t been at any of them, though she wasn’t surprised. By one she was finished; standing up from her desk she took her laptop with her, slipping it into its case in her bag as she locked her desk drawers, stalking out of the office.

“Allison, please take my calls for the rest of the day, I need to be home to start getting ready for the night,” she sighed, rolling her eyes slightly. It was so typical of Blake to just miss the day entirely when it was vital and important to her future. “I expect to see you there,” she said, pointedly looking at her trusted assistant, before leaving the office to head down to a waiting car. It wasn’t long before she was striding through the front doors of the manor, greeting Bo on her way in.

“Mr. Carrington is in his office, he would like to see you and Steven,” Anders said as a greeting. Fallon groaned slightly; she just wanted to be in her bedroom, getting ready for tonight. She had so much to do - manicure, pedicure, her hair had to be done, getting into her gown was definitely a fete, and naturally her makeup needed that extra touch. “Fine, but he better make it quick,” she said, dropping her bag at the foot of one side of the double staircase, knowing a maid would whisk it up to her bedroom. Stalking through the manor, she ran into Steven, who willingly wrapped her up in a hug.

“Hey sis, what’s gotten up your ass already? It’s not even 1:30. Did someone manage to piss you off that badly already?” He asked, as Fallon’s eyebrow went up.

“Oh you know, the usual. Work. Daddy not showing up for work, daddy dearest calling me into his office. Wait, why are you here? Why aren’t you doing something for underprivileged children somewhere?” She asked, sliding her arm into his as they walked down the hallway.

“I figured I would make an appearance tonight,” he shrugged, reaching for the doorknob of the office as he and Fallon stepped inside, Fallon’s eyes immediately bugging out.

“Oh Daddy, sleeping with the help? Again? I thought you’d stopped slumming it after that last disaster,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Doesn’t she work for the company? Or really, under you?” She smirked, tossing her hair back at what she thought was a clever burn. “Now’s as good a time as ever to be seeking a promotion, I see,” she said, her blue eyes squaring up the woman laying on her fathers desk, crossing her arms.

“Actually, Fallon,” Blake said, pausing to glance at Steven. “Steven. I’m glad you’re both here. This is Cristal, your new stepmother. I thought we should all get to know each other over pre-drinks for tonights gala. Especially you Fallon, she’s your new boss,” Blake said. Fallon could feel her anger flaring, her blue eyes piercing into Blake’s before she dropped the cut-glass Tumblr of scotch in her hand, hearing the satisfying shattering of glass as it hit the hardwood floor of his office.

“Are you fucking joking?” She asked, horrified. “I’ve dedicated my life to take over as CEO when it’s time for you to retire; I’ve worked my ass off for the position of COO since I was in high school and interned for you, all the way through graduate school. I do not have an MBA from Wharton to be thwarted by your flavor of the week,” she said, trying to hold her voice together as she raised her chin in the air. She could feel Steven gently supporting her from behind; he hated when Fallon and Blake fought - sometimes she was convinced he was adopted, considering he was the exact opposite of both Fallon and Blake.

“You’re just going to have to get used to it, Fallon, especially because all of Atlanta society will know tonight at the gala,” Blake said in opposition. This made Fallon even more furious, evident by the audible whine, and growl under her breath.Pulling herself up to her full height, she tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“It’s fine, really, Blake. I was born into the Carrington name, it’s mine to keep. No matter what, my future is secure. I’ll never have to fuck my way to get to where I want in life,” she said, turning on the ball of her red, Gucci heels as she flounced out of the room, disrupting an eavesdropping housekeeper in the process. Sneering at her on her way down the hall, she headed upstairs to her bedroom to get ready for the nights festivities.

* * *

Fallon stewed in her bedroom as she started to get ready; It was 3 PM by now and she had five hours to get ready. Her custom Dolce & Gabbana gown sat beautifully on a dress form by her closet and Fallon couldn’t help but pause to admire it momentarily; she always did her hair and makeup first. Sighing, she sat down at her vanity in her button-up and skirt, staring into the mirror. Reflecting back at her were tired blue eyes - emotionally, mentally, and physically - framed by honey-brown curls that reached down her back. Sighing, she released a large pout, one that she now reserved only for behind the locked doors and privacy of her bedroom suite, before she started to attempt to do something with her hair.

**Several hours later…**

Fallon sprayed her signature rosewater perfume on both sides of her neck, her wrists, and between her ample cleavage before sighing, bottle still in hand, before doing the one stereotypical girl thing she ever allowed herself to do: spritzing a few sprays of the soft fragrance in the air, she twirled through it, smiling a bit as she felt the droplets touch her bare arms. It was nearly eight PM now, and she had finished getting ready just in time - perfection was an art and she wasn’t one to rush. After buckling the straps of her sparkly, feathered Louboutins, she stood up, grabbing her favorite red lipstick for dramatic effect, she made sure it was perfect before she slipped it into a hidden pocket in her gown, standing in front of her mirror.

“You’ve outdone yourself this year,” she spoke to her reflection, a tiny smirk appearing on her red lips. Her blonde-brown mix of curls were pulled back into an elegant French twist, with curls spilling from the top like a waterfall, moving with her every move. With her makeup expertly applied, she couldn’t help but flutter her long lashes in the mirror - a set of false eyelashes enhanced her own lustrous ones, looking even bigger with the extra flourish she had added onto her signature winged liner. Her porcelain skin was dusted with blush and highlighter, but her eyes stopped on her masterpiece of a gown.

The black, strapless, heavy but delicate custom silk Dolce & Gabbana confection had been her best design yet. She was no designer but she’d always had fun, sketching what she’d dreamed up during endlessly long board meetings, half trained to listen to whatever bullshit her father was spewing - always used to the boring tone of his voice - the other half of her immersed in the details of the intricate gown that she knew would be perfect for CA’s annual masquerade ball. As she stood in the mirror gazing at her reflection in such a timid way, she was suddenly glad that she was alone and always chose to get ready for events alone - especially with her bedroom door locked. The general feeling of self-loathing washed over her as she lifted her chin, the large diamond earrings that hung from each earlobe shook with every movement. Jeff would be there, of course, seeing as how he was family - something that always made her nauseous - and she knew Culhane would be too. She always counted on Kirby to rescue her and keep the alcohol flowing during such situations, the two girls thick as thieves as they always had been.

Brushing off the thought, Fallon sighed and stepped back to admire herself, tilting the sides of her three way mirror so she could see herself in all of her glory - she had to admit that her sketches, the photos she’d seen, and the bases of gown she’d tried on for fittings truly hadn’t captured the masterpiece of the gown she now wore, or the look and theme she’d aimed for - and succeeded - to achieve. A strapless neckline of heavy black silk fit her perfectly, the double layer adorned with soft black feathers, stitched down by ornate embroidery and delicate beading. The bodice was much the same minus the feathers - from far away it was seemingly a black silk canvas, but up close the corset style - which laced down her back, ending in satin ribbons that matched the rest of her gown - was a timeless twist to what was more than a gown, but a work of art. Her favorite was the skirt; the bodice nipped in her waist perfectly and the skirt flowed beautifully from her hips in the same heavy black silk; it had the same embroidery and beading as the rest of the gown, with more of the black feathers interspersed among the detailing. The skirt itself was a dream; the way it flared from her hips Cinderella-style reminded her of being a teenager, of being a debutante in Paris with her friends and Carrington cousins. Moving to the side, her fingers brushed the delicate feathers that began at her hips and made their way around, joining together at the small of her back, before spreading wider and wider still as they created a delicate train, heavy with the gown’s theme of elegant, intricate beading, and she lifted her chin even higher - if she was going to become someone else, especially for the masked ball, of course she would choose to become Odile, the black swan, more out of irony than anything else - Blake felt he could do no wrong, while Fallon bitterly stood in opposition to much of what he stood for. She still sought his approval desperately, while Blake did nothing to change the image the media saw her as: cold, unyielding, heartless. And so she was Odile, her feathers black and harsh, her blue eyes piercing as she spoke, keeping up this facade she hated so much - it was impossible now, after 25 years, to tear down her walls, and even more-so to let anyone take them down for her. It was just that - a dream, childish nonsense - to think that anyone would approach her and not be terrified, to see through her layers of trauma, anxiety, hate, and biting sarcasm, to find the sweet and delicate Odette she actually was: the innocent white swan, known for her beauty and grace, soft and innocent until the very end.

Reaching for the mask that covered her eyes, made to match her gown and overall look, she sighed as she straightened up, hearing footsteps behind her, heels clacking loudly on the hardrwood of her bedroom floor. Turning, she found Kirby in a short, slinky, sequined red dress with a matching mask, her red hair curling to her shoulders, drink in hand.

“Oh good, you can be useful,” Fallon said with a smirk, waltzing across the room to her vanity again. “What the fuck are you supposed to be anyway? You look like you stole your dress straight out of the 80’s, and Alexis’s closet,” she snorted, reaching for her feathered headpiece; she desperately needed someone to tuck it into her hairstyle, and luckily for her, Kirby had come along.

“Piss off, Fal. I found this number in the back of my closet from college, I definitely wore it to a frat party. For what it counts I’m the devil,” she said, winking at her as she took Fallon’s headpiece, tucking it into her hair, making sure it was secure.

How fitting, Kirbs,” she said, rolling her eyes lightly as she handed her her mask, holding it up as she let Kirby tie it, feeling her thread the ribbons through her hair like they both always did for the other to keep it secure during whatever shenanigans they ended up in during parties. Touching her bracelets on her wrist, and the delicate diamonds around her neck, she grabbed her phone and stood in front of the mirror again, Kirby beside her, the two best friends ready to raise hell.

* * *

As Fallon predicted, the night was simply the same tired, boring people in new gowns and tuxes, with even newer jewelry and more over-the-top extravagance. It was something to be expected in herself - naturally, it was what she was known for: being over the top, Blake Carrington’s only daughter. But did her choice of men have to be the same as well? It was truly exhausting, watching guys she’d known her entire life try and flirt with her, with stupid pickup lines and jokes, asking her to dance, talking about their incredibly boring business ventures (God, did they even read the news as to what _she_ was doing!? It easily topped every single one of them combined), or even worse - what they weren’t doing at all. Nothing bothered her more than coasting by on privilege - rather, privilege alone. She knew she had privilege but she’d also worked her ass off her entire life, through high school, college, and graduate school, even if Blake was constantly overlooking her and pushing her away. When it came time for Blake to announce the existence of Cristal, and her new roles in the family and company, Fallon became exceptionally pissed off.

Getting fed up, she wandered off from the most recent person who was trying to sweet talk her - and failing miserably - needing a strong drink. Champagne alone wasn’t doing much, but luckily Kirby was heading towards her, holding a small tray of vodka shots for the two of them to share.

“Oh thank you, you read my mind completely,” she said with a heavy eyeroll, grabbing her by the arm as they headed for the front of the manor, Fallon sinking onto the steps that headed upstairs, tugging Kirby down with her as she reached for one of the shot glasses. “I’m so going to regret this in the morning, I don’t even remember the last time I’ve done shots, let alone shots with you, but fuck. I hate it here,” she said, downing one, before tossing back another immediately after. Kirby watched her, only slightly concerned - it wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen Fallon do before, and it wasn’t like her best friend had had the greatest day. Learning she was about to gain a step-mother, and said future step-mother had snatched the job she’d been waiting for her entire life from her? She couldn’t blame her.

After half an hour of the pair talking and throwing back shots, Fallon could feel herself drunk enough to face the crowd again. “Wish me luck,” she said pathetically, picking up her gown with her hands as she waltzed back to the party, snatching up a glass of champagne as she stood by the window, attempting to be incognito, but to no avail. As she sipped on her flute of champagne she was approached by someone else and she sighed, suppressing the groan inside of her.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you tonight,” he said, as Fallon perked up slightly. A voice she didn’t know, belonging to a person she didn’t recognize, even with a mask on. Curiously, she smiled lightly; she was somewhat fascinated to know who this mystery man was that didn’t know who she was - not that she was completely arrogant but seeing as how it _was_ her father’s party, at the Carrington Manor…and then it hit her. Someone who she’d never met, who she could be her actual self with, even if it was just tonight. It was almost too good to be true, but her heart leapt at the chance.

“I haven’t seen you either, until now,” she said smoothly, silently thanking Kirby for reminding her to touch up her lipstick before she’d reappeared in public once more. “Is this your first time at a Carrington party?” She inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Actually yes, I’m from New York,” he replied, taking all of Fallon in - she was breathtaking, in a way New York girls weren’t. She had an edge to her that he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he knew he wanted to know her more. “Care to dance?” He asked, watching the smile spread across her lips, watching her eyes light up behind her mask.

And so they danced, song after song, Fallon hanging on his every word. He was born in New York and had moved to Atlanta when he was younger - but had pulled away from his family, which was why this was his first time at a Carrington affair.

“My mother actually hates the Carringtons, she taught me as a child I shouldn’t ever get involved in their affairs. I never actually listen to her, though,” he said with a laugh, as Fallon’s heart beat out of her chest, putting the pieces together in her head, despite the amount of alcohol in her system. His mother hated her family. They were from New York, and moved here when he was younger. Suddenly she knew exactly who she was dancing with and she froze; her hand was clasped in his, their bodies close as they danced, trying to find something to say. How do you tell the son of a rival family, the Van Kirks, that you were the daughter of Blake Carrington, and that you had been told the same things about his family?

 _“Fallon, never trust the Van Kirks. They’re terrible people,”_ Blake had always said, but never elaborated on. It was something she had never questioned, even as an adult. And now…she had Liam Van Kirk’s arms wrapped around her, and she didn’t know what to say or do.

“I…I have to go,” she said suddenly, feeling dizzy and breathless, not knowing whether it was the alcohol or the shock that after 25 years, she and Liam had finally crossed paths. Letting go of him, she picked up her gown again and wove through the partygoers as she headed towards the stairs, careful not to trip on her gown or fall on her heels and break her ankle. It was stupid, she knew, and extremely childish, but she wasn’t sure how to react. She had actually clicked with someone, enjoyed their company, and was even going to take off her mask at midnight and reveal herself - and she’d been with the one person who was off limits (by their parents orders, though Fallon never actually listened to what Blake said - he lost that right years ago, and again today when he chose Cristal over her for COO.)

Reaching the staircase, Fallon ran up as fast as she could, but she saw Liam close behind her, standing downstairs as he looked up at her.

“Why are you running?” He asked, as Fallon leaned on the bannister, biting on her bottom lip.

“Because I know if you knew who I was, this won’t end well. So I’m choosing to take the brunt of the hurt before the two of us end up on the front page of every gossip page that exists,” she explained, wanting nothing more than to plop down on the steps and have him sit beside her, pull off her mask, and introduce herself - but they were genetically engineered to hate each other because it had been taught to them, even if he still had no idea that she was, in fact, Fallon Carrington. Closing her eyes for a second, she took a breath before opening them, sighing heavily.

“I know you don’t understand. It’s probably better off if you don’t,” she said sadly, trying to hold back her emotions - fortunately her parents had given her 25 years of training - before turning to walk up the rest or the staircase to the hallway above.

“Wait! Before you go. I’m Liam. Liam Van Kirk,” he said, pulling off his mask as he watched her, looking ethereal in the upstairs hallway, the light from the party illuminating her beautifully.

“I know,” she said, tearing herself away at the last possible moment as she rushed to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it before she let the dam containing her emotions open up.


End file.
